The Lost Ecclesiastes

But it will be.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:”

They had broken the rules. They had taken the most sacred of laws and shattered it, in one fell swoop. One dangerous and unforgivable motion had divided the oceans and moved the moon. It had siphoned mediocrity from the rain of consistency. They had, in their blatant and impotent arrogance moved selfishly into the depths of depravity. Against the current of every river that had carried them. Their hunger had bested them. Their thirst had drowned them.

And now, so would he.

What once was grey was black and white again.

The blood rolled down his legs and on to his ankles. He could feel the burning of the wounds – 6 brutal teeth marks each. 3 beasts of indistinguishable rapture. An unconventional pain. This damage would not heal. This infected blood does not clot. These injuries were meant to tear at the memory, and bite down to the soul. The darkest of demons leave scars on the inside, not the outside. Blood dripped to the floor with his every step.

His torn jeans scraped against the lesions where they had tried to hold him down. His hands balled tightly; he could still remember their flesh on his fingertips as he struggled to force them away. But he could only keep them at bay. His face was contorted, its disposition determined and intent. His shirt was undamaged and un-smudged – the miracle of irony. It flowed briskly.

Memories came now, as he walked: memories of the unforgettable.

~~~

The wretched beasts had closed in. He ignored them – that was the law. They drew so close he could smell their breath. He would not be deterred, and he would not waiver. Their air was foul. They circled and saliva dripped from their mouths. He held his head high this time; though his fear reeked, he would not relent to them. Not this time. Not this time.

Then pain: searing, shocking, unforgettable pain. What was it? He looked down and saw them there, he watched one bite, he watched another tear. What was he to do? His worst fears bubbled up to meet him and pressed at his chest, pinning him down. Finally, his awe relented, but already they were upon him, feasting. Devouring him.

He fought. He screamed. He yearned for intervention.

It was not fair. It was not fair! This was not the law! Their hunger would be sated and he would be left for dead against his will. This was not his will. This was not right. No, no, no, it had to be his will. No, no,

NO!

They looked up; some trifling instinct had moved them. Had removed them. Blood draped over their teeth, but would not be swallowed. Their meal caught in their throats. They snarled and glared and nipped at one another. Then at once, they fled in great scorn; fallen from Satan’s grace. He collapsed.

~~~

He was running now. His stride was empowered by his past. Nevermore would it be hindered by fear or the beast’s bated breath. Their yelps would not save them from his wrath. Their warnings would not stay his hand. Now they were the damned. Where once kings sat grinning, the treasonous now looked for escape. They would not find it, not even in the very depths of Hell.

He was now a renegade, like they once were. Derelict of Heaven, never could he expect the Great Hand to deliver justice against a rabid Cerberus. Divine justice was saved for the devout, and there was a limited supply. But there was no limit to his supply. They had provided him with infinite capacity. Righteousness was the sharpest spear. There was no better weapon for a vigilante.

He would search every shadow of the night. He would move to trap them in their own feeding grounds – the farms of fatigue and failure. They would be offered no mercy. The best they could hope for was a moment’s hesitation. That was the only advantage their Mistake had earned them. His zeal would see him through; searching moral high ground and Lucifer’s low ground, for they had been known to wander both. They would know no reprieve, he knew new laws now.

When he found them, there would be murder. Swift and strange. Brutal and beautiful.

“A time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot,
A time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build,
A time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance,
A time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
A time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away,
A time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak,
A time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.”

Finally, it would be time for morning.